Five Strikes
by dljensengirl88
Summary: John's dished out warnings and punishments fairly often, trying to contain his own anger by not raising a hand to his sons. But even he had his limits and when the boys go too far the wrong way, jeopardizing each other's safety, there was only one way back.
1. The Limits

**Scenario:** teen!chester parental spanking  
><strong>Implement:<strong> belt

**Author's Notes/Warnings: **This is my first spanking fic. A lot of firsts this month as I have been reading fan fic for a couple of years, but only started finally writing it as of this month. I wrote my first in another Supernatural community and what a high it was. I was actually in the middle of another story posted over there, but I had been going through this community for a few days and I accidentally distracted my muse. There is some profane language in here, as is probably expected from a Winchester. While I wrote this to be a spanking fic, it's not gratuitous. I don't think there's anything but the allusion to spanking in the first chapter and that started me wondering if my fic will fit the bill for this community. This ended up being so long it became 4 chapters, 2 of which directly have your beloved form of punishment. I hope this isn't too much of a wait for ya! I was hesitant at first to post this here so I tried to see if there were guidelines the community wanted to follow. I thought I had read that some time ago. Then I saw someone posted a question about the kind of fics folk here like and I got the feeling most people were like me! John please! Close to canon please! Plausible please! No abuse please! So I'm taking the plunge and sharing my long tale with y'all.

Because I am pro-John, you will not find me letting him go nuts on these boys or be, in my estimation, unreasonable. As a matter of fact, I wrote this after years now of reading other spanking fics because I asked myself what did I think would actually drive John to lay a hand on his sons? I believe him to be a strict disciplinarian, sure. But I never got the feeling he spanked nearly as easily as many would like him to. Consider when Dean accidentally let the shtriga get to Sam. If ever there was a call for Dean to get his - after John was sure Sam was ok - that was the time. But he didn't. Or **[SPOILER AHEAD IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN SEASON 9 YET]** when Dean got sent to the boys home for losing the money John gave him and getting caught stealing. Sounds like an open-and-shut spanking case to me, but John didn't go there. However, if we listen to Martin in season 8, when he and Sam wanted to hunt Benny, Dean's response prompted Martin to say if their dad were there, he would be inclined to take them to the woodshed. Sam told him to shut up but he didn't say he was wrong. I suppose that's enough to show John must have used corporal punishment at some point. In my opinion, John was emotionally negligent at times, I'd even venture into sometimes, MAYBE emotionally abusive when he just didn't care how he came across at the moment or maybe if he had been drinking. He didn't easily give what his sons needed, but I think that's as far as I am willing to go on that topic. So I pondered what it might look like to drive him to the point of spanking his kids and this was my not-so-quick result. Hope it works!

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John didn't spank easily. He had to be pushed beyond his broad limits. He had to see no other way to get his boys back in line, for their own safety as well as for the restoration of John's authority.

The usual methods of discipline included running more miles in a day than either boy had done in the past. Cleaning every weapon in sight - twice. Making a buttload of salt rounds on a nice day when they really wanted to hang out somewhere. For Sam, taking away his books and laptop. For Dean, taking away his driving and dating privileges. They earned the occasional jab in the shoulder when their tone of voice began to try John's patience. John wasn't above yelling to keep his hands from doing what they wanted to do, but it really took a lot for John to full on whip his kids into submission literally. The boys did not have a mother figure so he expected them to act out. He expected rough treatment at the hands of each other. He expected rude behavior and course language, though they knew to never be blatant about it because, well, that could bring unnecessary trouble. John gave them room to be the boys they were and he knew he was still nursing his own grief and anger so he had to watch himself. He could not let his anger be displaced to the point of hurting his own children, his precious memories of Mary. No matter how old they got, they would always be his children whom he needed to protect. But they would test him. And John, in an effort to give them room to get their acts together, would instead take out his anger on the monsters he sought. A little hunting and tequila was good for the soul - and the behinds of his rough-and-tumble sons.

Still, the boys could go too far. It didn't matter if they were teenagers or not. They could go too far and John would have to snatch them back. In those times, Sam and Dean would find clarity, thanks to John's belt, and get back into their usual but restrictive places to squirm yet stay put for the longest time before they forgot once again that even their father - who had an unconventional kind of patience mistaken as the strictest of strict in the eyes of normal kids - could only be pushed so far. He could not let Sam or Dean resort to bringing great pain to the other because they had to stay a team. He needed them to at least maintain respect for each other when they were in the throes of another teenage squabble. If it ever seemed that respect was in jeopardy, John knew it was time to take action. If they ever did to each other what he knew he would kill over if a stranger had done it to either of them, then he knew they were too far out of line and needed to be reminded who and whose they were. And they were teenagers, so that cutesy over-the-knee, hand-to-butt action wasn't his method of choice. Belts did the trick. A switch if they were in the woods. Objects that tended to leave welts and so again, he had to think five times before going there. Normal people might see him take a belt to either son and cry abuse. But he knew different and so did they. Whether it was dad giving the punishment or one kid or the other being punished, they respected and loved each other enough to do it away from prying eyes and ears.

Sam and Dean knew a certain glare was their first warning. If John had to whisper to them or force their attention by standing in their personal space, they knew they had received the second warning. They got three strikes when John resorted to one of his primary discipline methods, leaving their hands aching from cleaning or their sides sore from running. They were sometimes allowed a fourth opportunity when John chose to separate them from what they loved, including each other, or even from a hunt they really wanted to be a part of. Five times was not charming, however, so there was no other choice. John needed to get physical.

Even with his boys growing like gangbusters and getting stronger every day, thanks to his training, they knew never to use that advantage over their father who at least still had some pounds on both of them and could conceivably still win in a tussle even if they were pretty much evenly matched these days. Sam was 13 now and just wanted to exercise his independence, but Dean would thwart his efforts causing Sam to lash out. Dean was being a jerk and he knew it. Sam was young, he knew, but he was doing things that would scare the crap out of other kids his age. He was drinking triple red-eye coffee for crap's sake. Surely that warranted a little freedom to do his own thing, didn't it? Dean was 17 and there was no way he was going to let his little brother run over his authority. He was second in command. He had taken care of Sam even when Sam fought him on it. He had sacrificed more than any boy his age ever should and still he hadn't complained - too much - because it was for the good of his family. He was keeping them safe. He was being the good son and when was that a bad thing? He had earned the right to sometimes be dictatorial when it comes to his little brother, hadn't he?

The storm had been brewing between Sam and Dean ever since Sam turned 13 some months ago. Sam had purposely been needling Dean and Dean had been a little heavier handed than he knew he should be, because he did get it. He understood Sam's rebellion, but still. He couldn't let that kind of behavior go unrewarded too long lest he lose his upper hand. As they poked at each other, played sometimes mean-spirited pranks that warranted their father's 1st and 2nd warnings, they would back off long enough to let John cool down, then come back at each other with even more intensity. When Sam and Dean started fighting over who was going to control the remote one rainy weekend, John knew they needed a vacation from each other and sent Sam to stay with Bobby for a little while. The expected effect was Dean relishing the quiet for all of one day before he started texting his brother jabs about being sent away and sending photos of him dangling Sam's prized possessions over a roaring fire. But he would always back down because he just wanted to know that Sam was ok. Sam, being 13, would sometimes fall for the rouse and sometimes accidentally on purpose pocket dial his brother so he could overhear Sam asking Bobby if he knew what Dean liked to do in the middle of the night when he thought Sam was sleeping. Sam could hear the tinny voice over the phone yelling at him to shut up and before Dean could hear if Sam went through with this threat, the phone would hang up just in middle of Sam's sentence. Of course Sam would never reveal his brother's inner life like that. He just wanted Dean to know he was ok.

But then Sam came home, and the peace was tenuous, only lasting a week before John brought home word of a hunt that Sam could help do the research on and Dean could help fight since it wasn't far from their current home. There was an old, boarded up boys home that had become a favorite site of many teen truth-or-dare games. It seemed boys were coming out of that place unable to talk about whatever they had experienced inside, leaving some of them in some sort of trance for weeks, others exhibiting behaviors that were extreme forms of their personalities. One boy was so out of it, he walked in front of a truck as he stumbled out from the surrounding woods. He seemed to see it coming. He did not stop. He did not survive. Something was affecting those boys and John, having boys of his own, was compelled to do something about it before someone else died.

John had the initial info he needed. The home was just the next state over, but not far from the state line, which put even the local kids at risk. John gave Sam what research he had and let Sam get started looking deeper into the history of the home while he and Dean made their way to a motel nearby so they could set up and start talking to the locals to see what else they could learn. Dean wasn't too keen on the place, the home calling up memories of the place he stayed last year when dad left him to think about his behavior for two whole months. Sonny had been really good to him though. Robin had been the start of his assent into manhood and like that, dad drove up and wiped it all away. Dean started to close his heart to girls then. Letting them be but curvy pieces in his little game of emotional keepaway. Still, Dean had good memories of the place. Most likely, with all that was happening, this particular home wasn't filled with happy memories. Clearly not, by the boys who managed to survive whatever they were finding inside.

John and Dean found some kids hanging out at the diner they stopped at for lunch. Sitting on the hood of their old cars, clearly up to nothing at all. Most likely this was the spot they met before going off to whatever adventures met their fancy that day. "Hold on, dad," Dean said when he noticed the gang eyeing them getting out of the car. Dean had been driving and from the narrowed eyes that stole glances their way, he suspected the classic ride gave him instant cred that may get the guys to open up a bit. "Can you give me a minute with them?"

"Dean..."

"Dad, please. Go inside. I'll let you know what they say."

John conceded that Dean would most likely get more out of them than he could, so he nodded his consent and strode into the diner, choosing not to look back. Dean watched his father enter the restaurant, glad his father was willing to give him this space, then turned back to the boys on their cars and snorted as he approached them.

"Hey," he greeted.

" 'Sup," one boy standing in front of a car said, crossing his arms as Dean approached. "That your ride or did daddy let you take it for a spin?" The other guys, one on the hood and two others on either side of the closest vehicle, snickered but stayed in their spots.

"Oh yeah, she's mine. The old man is in town and wanted to take me out to lunch, you know. Somewhere different. Trying to make up for taking off on me and my brother years ago and leaving my mom a wreck. We're new around here, actually live right over the line, but I just wanted to get out of there for a while, you know?"

The guy on the hood straightened his glasses and agreed. "Yeah," he said. "We sure do," he said nodding to the one standing in front of him. As Dean looked he thought he could see a resemblance between the two and figured the nerdy one was the brother of the other.

"Yeah well," the brother said, "your family business ain't none of our business and vice versa," he said looking at his brother, knocking him in the leg as he spoke.

Dean smiled and stepped forward a little more. The guy at the other end of the car started to move in time with Dean, suspicion written all over his face. "Well look," Dean said, "I just wanna get out when I can. Escape the brat and all the drama. Been listening out for places to hang and I heard something about some old home or something?"

The guys - except the boy on the hood - chuckled. "You don't want none of that, Impala. That place hauuuunted!" The boy on the other side of the car replied, making all but the boy on the hood break up in laughter.

"Yeah, well, I don't scare that easy," Dean said. "Do you?"

The first boy, clearly this little gang's leader, pointed his chin out at that. "What you tryin' to say?"

"Oh nothing," Dean answered, hands up to show he meant no harm. "I just figured you looked like the kind of guys who might know where to find some trouble, because I'm looking for some." Dean smiled that dazzling smile that charmed the girls and set the guys on edge.

"Take it somewhere else, Impala," the young leader said. "Let's go guys." The nerdy kid slid off the hood.

"I want to get some pie, Tommy. I...I can meet you at home later."

"Yeahhhh right," Tommy replied. "You just want to go in there to see that Stacy chick. She ain't eyeing you boy, don't you know that?"

Their friend on the other side of the car laughed. "Word is she's into smart dudes, little dude. Maybe you should go try to hit that!" The other guys laughed as two of them jumped into the one car and the other headed over to his. "Don't take all day, nerdy wan kinobi! Dad will be looking for you soon and you know what happens if you stay out too late! Don't call me if you can't get home in time!"

Tommy laughed as he started up his ride and the boys all peeled out on their way back the way John and Dean had come. Dean watched them go, the little nerdy guy by his side. He tilted his chin at him. "What's your name, dude?"

"Ralph," he said, adjusting his glasses.

"Ralph? That's unfortunate."

"It's a family name."

"Huh. Well, I'm Dean. So tell me Ralphie..."

"It's Ralph. Ralphie is a mamma's boy."

"Uh huh," Dean replied, half listening. "So tell me, Ralphie, what do you know about that boys home?"

"What's it to ya?"

"Well I hear folk been getting hurt?"

Ralph looked down at his hands, clearly a little uncomfortable. "My friend," he said. "My friend Steve, he was one of the popular kids. Hung out with me because I could help him with his algebra, but we found out we had a lot in common so we hung out, but on the DL, you know? He didn't want to ruin his reputation being seen with me."

"Nice friend," Dean replied.

"No, no. He was good to me. Really. He was showing me how to stand up to my father, my stupid older brother. He cared, it's just that in front of others, he tended to treat me like I was nothing."

"Like I said..." Dean said again.

Ralph shook his head. Dean sighed and clapped him on the back. "I get it, Ralph. He wasn't exactly perfect but he gave you something, right? It's better than being alone? I understand. So what happened to him?"

"He went in there, that house. I was with him but I stayed outside. I was too scared," Ralph added quietly. "He wanted to prove to me that it was no big deal, you know. It seemed like forever, and then I heard him screaming, 'Stop! No!' I tried to get in but I couldn't. I could have sworn that door was broken, but when I tried it it was locked and he was alone. Then he came out. Had this wild look in his eye, but it was like he was too stunned to talk. He was rubbing his thighs and he kept going. It was like he couldn't hear me calling him. The place is surrounded by woods and he just keep going until he got to the road and then..."

"Then what?" Dean asked.

"Bam. Truck came out of nowhere. Or maybe to that trucker, Steve came out of nowhere. He was roadkill, man." Ralph shuddered as he remembered.

"Ralph, is there some girl in that diner you were trying to talk to?"

"Huh? Oh well, Stacy. Yeah, she's not on duty. Should be in about 20 minutes though."

"Ok," Dean said. "Listen, Ralphie, can my dad and I buy you some pie? We'd really love to hear whatever else you know about that place."

"What? Why?"

"Because I think we can help. My dad? Always on the road? Stuff like this is the reason why. He heard about boys getting hurt in this place and you know, got all worried about us so here we are."

Ralph stared at Dean for a moment, then looked around him not really seeing anything else better to do. "Yeah," he sighed. "OK, if you really think you can do something."

"We can try," Dean said.


	2. The Hunt

While John and Dean listened to Ralph tell the tall tales of the local haunted house, Sam had taken his research and his laptop and headed to the local library to see what he could dig up. The local lore would likely be easier to find in person with librarians who knew a thing or two about their own area. He knew it was a boys' home. He knew it had been shut down about 50 years ago. He knew there had only been one attempt to resurrect the place, but somehow that didn't pan out. That was all he knew so far, but he was on the trail. He had dug up some old newspaper clippings and found out the place was run by some old bitty, the strict kind who thought kids should be seen and not heard. She founded the boys' home when she noticed so many wayward youth left to their own devices as their poor parents struggled to maintain a home or maybe they gave up the kid altogether for one less mouth to feed. Seemed the old broad had a sadistic streak and was killed by one of the boys she had been determined to discipline. Sam saw the boy's picture as they were hauling him off to jail. Leather jacket, looked like not too dark hair in the black-and-white photo. Cocky grin on his face. You could tell the kid was a wiseass. Reminded him of Dean.

"Excuse me, miss," Sam asked the librarian who was pushing a cart nearby. "Have you ever heard of the Haverford Home for Boys?"

John and Dean had made their way to the old home. Dean called Sam as he and John walked around the old place. "School marm type, huh? What was her name?" Dean asked. He held his hand over the phone as he loud whispered to John. "Dad, her name's Maggie Collins." John nodded and kept walking.

"Think it could be our nuisance?"

"I don't see why not," Sam replied on the other end. "She was the only one to run the show until this Martin kid killed her. He says in self-defense."

"Self-defense? What was he saying she did?"

Sam was quiet a moment. "Um, it doesn't say."

"It doesn't say?"

"It doesn't say, Dean, ok?!"

"Ok! Don't get your panties in a bunch!"

"Dean," John warned.

"What?! He started it!"

John shook his head and kept walking the perimeter until he happened upon what appeared to be an overgrown grave site.

"I think dad just found her," Dean said. "Piece of cake. I'm going in, Sammy!"

"Dean?" Sam called. "Um, well, wait Dean..." But he was gone. Sam sighed as he hung up and debated trying his father. The papers all said that the boys coming out that home since Maggie died had survived - mostly. They might have taken a bit of time to get back to themselves. Of course no one wanted to talk about what happened there and that Steve guy couldn't talk because he was worm food now. But it didn't seem so bad. Maybe withholding one little detail wouldn't hurt this time and it would help Sam get his revenge on his pain-in-the-neck jerk older brother. Dean would never see it coming.

John started to dig up the grave, calling for Dean but Dean had already made his way into the old house. The front door was wide open. "Piece of cake," he mumbled to himself. "Or pie! Piece of pie! Yummmm, pie."

He saw the house was rather grand looking inside with a prominent staircase that greeted him as soon as he walked in. The floors were creaky, some were missing in places. The boarded up windows barred much of the light that begged to enter. Dean looked to the right and saw some old-fashioned parlor kind of room. "Didn't Sam say this place was only closed about 50 years? Did the rooms look like this then," he wondered to himself. But Sam had also said the woman who ran this joint was the real old-fashioned kind who didn't take crap from no kid. "Nice mission in life, lady. Treat the kids like crap that you claimed to help."

Dean thought he heard some rustling upstairs. He hesitated, trying to see if he could see his father out the window. He knew dad had found the grave so it was just a matter of time now. "What the heck," he said. "May as well see what's what." He climbed the creaky steps that led to two rather dark hallways on either side. He could see a bunch of doors. Most likely the rooms all these boys stayed in. At the end of the hall on the right, he noticed a door opening just a tad."That's not creepy at all," he whispered. "Onward and upward." He crept down to the end of the hallway. The door was only open a crack so he could see it had a sign on it that said, "PRIVATE."

"This was probably the old bat's office," he thought out loud, his hand reaching out slowly to push the door open further. "What are you doing in here," a voice boomed behind him.

Dean swung around and came nose to nose with a woman. She looked like the old spinister type and as such it was actually hard to figure out her age. "You know you don't belong in here! You're so disobedient," she screeched.

"Woah, lady, I was just..."

"You boys think you can do whatever you want. You must learn!" The woman lunged at Dean, he ducked pulling a crowbar from the back of his jeans that he had brought just in case. Dad didn't think there was need for a gun. He was wrong. Dean swung the crowbar and the spirit vanished.

Breathing heavy, Dean looked around himself. "Ah ha, you bitch!"

The woman, Maggie Collins, reappeared behind him. "You must learn!" This time she had a large paddle in her hands and she floated toward Dean, paddle raised. "You are a bad child! You must learn to show respect!"

"Hey!" Dean ducked again, this time stumbling forward as he got out of her way. The crowbar fell to the side, but he picked it up just time to jab upward making Maggie disappear again.

"What the..." and in no time Maggie was back. "You must learn!" She swung the paddle and connected with Dean's hand, sending the crowbar flying and him stumbling into the wall. "Bad child!" she screamed. She managed to manhandle Dean so that he was now on his stomach, her power stronger than he anticipated as she got him into prime position to paddle him right then and there. Dean didn't make the connection until she did - her paddle to his ass.

"Hey! Quit it!" Dean yelled. He scrambled to get to the crowbar, but Maggie was too quick. She pulled his leg, dragging him back toward her and the crowbar was once again just out of reach. The paddle landed again, heavier than anything even his dad had ever done to him. He screamed in pain. "You will learn, boy!" And she brought the paddle down again. Three strikes. Four. Five strikes and Dean was about ready to cry for his daddy, when he heard her start to yell in a different way. He turned around and saw the flame as it started to creep up on her, finally taking her out into oblivion for good.

Dean dropped his head to the floor, his butt burning and his temper rising. How had Sam missed this little detail? No wonder that kid killed her. No wonder no one wanted to talk about what happened to them in this house. Who wants to admit to being spanked at this age?! By a ghost! He barely wanted to acknowledge it now when his dad took his belt to him when he thought he really deserved it.

"Sammy, how the hell..."

"Dean?!" John yelled. "Where are you?!"

Dean remembered dad and groaned. He did not want to hear the lecture he was sure to get about going off on his own. He'd probably tell Dean he deserved to get paddled just for that.

"Boy! Answer me!"

"I'm up here, dad," Dean replied, trying to find the strength to get up from the floor. John ran up the stairs to find him and help him up. "What are you doing in here, Dean? I told you to wait for me!"

"I know, dad. I'm sorry. I got curious and I knew you had this under control."

"Well what happened to you? Why were you on the floor?"

Dean groaned again, but knew he couldn't not tell his dad the truth. As John helped him out and into the car, Dean grimaced in pain, dreading the long, bumpy ride home. it was only a few hours away, but that would seem like an eternity to his soar butt.

Just then his phone chirped. A text from Sammy popped up. "How ya like me now?" it read. Dean squinted at the phone not getting the meaning.

"What you talkin bout squirt?"

"Maggie tanned ya hide real good? LOL!"

Dean saw red this time instead of feeling it. "Sam. Did you know about that paddle of hers," he texted, starting to fume.

No reply.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled, causing John to swerve slightly.

"What the hell, son!"

"Dad! He knew!"


	3. The Truth

"What the fuck, Sammy!" Dean blew through the front door, his eyes trained on Sam who was seated on the couch, laptop on lap. Sam heard his family come in, his eyes wide as Dean stalked toward him. Sam leapt up, ignoring the computer that tumbled to the floor, and made a dash for the stairs.

"Uh uh! No way! I'm going to KILL you, Sam!"

John ran up and grabbed Dean's arm as he went to swipe at Sam. "Dean! Back off!" Snatching Dean behind him, John zeroed in on Sam next. "What was that, boy?!"

Sam said nothing, cringing on the stairs, panting as he looked from his dad to Dean and back again; both men huffing with murderous looks in their eyes. "What did you send us into, Sam?!"

"What?!" Sam yelled. "I knew it wouldn't kill him, dad! It was safe!"

John stepped back as if Sam had slapped him. "You knew.."

"Yeah, I was just trying..."

"You knew and didn't tell us! You made us vulnerable, Sam! This wasn't a prank!"

Sam shrank back, the words already starting to pain him before his father could even touch him. John turned around to his older son.

"Dean! Room! Now!" John ordered. As Dean moved to comply, Sam took the opportunity to run from the house, not ready to face both his father's and his brother's wrath. "Hey!" John briefly grasped at his sleeve as Sam slipped away.

"Damn it, boy!" John shouted after him. He whirled around to face Dean. "Don't even think about it, Dean!" John yelled before Dean could take another step to follow Sam. Dean huffed but said nothing as he turned to stomp up the stairs, looking back at his father who had gone to the door to see where Sam had gone. As his hand trailed up the banister, Dean remembered where Sam's current happy place was located and he grinned to himself, taking the rest of the steps two at a time, dashing to their bedroom, slamming the door and running to the window to watch as Sam ran toward the field behind their house that led to the main road into town.

He was headed to the bookstore, right across the street from the library, but Dean was going to head him off at the pass and force him to run back to the house. Dean slid the window open, stepping out to the porch roof below. Thank God for wraparound porches, he thought. There was a tree at the corner of the house that he could swing from, so he headed that way, away from Sammy, and peered down over the roof to see if his father was standing there. He saw John had gone to the other corner, so he took his chance and leapt into the tree, shimming down as fast as he could, taking off after Sam. John had rounded the other corner by then as Dean ran toward the opposite side of the barn diagonal from their house and hopefully, to the other side of Sam, trying to cut off his path. Dean got there just as Sam was rounding the barn, but Sam saw him in enough time to veer left around another tree that was in Dean's way, allowing Sam to keep heading away from the house, though not yet toward the road.

Dean gave chase and ran out so that he was on Sam's left side, blocking his attempt to get to the road and forcing Sam to pretty much run in a circle back toward the house. Dean ran bigger circles around Sam trying to trap him and soon they were both headed toward the house as John heard the commotion and headed back the way he came. Sam was once again trying to head to the barn and thus to the road.

Dean drew close to the house and spotted his bow and quiver of arrows on the porch. He knew there was no longer a need to run. Sam was wearing a jacket that flapped in the wind as he ran toward the barn. Dean ran up on the porch, snatched the bow, plopped in an arrow, slowed his breathing, took careful aim at Sam's jacket while hiding on the porch of the house, around a corner so Sam didn't see him and move the wrong way, ending up at the business end of the arrow. Sam was too busy peeping around the barn trying to spot Dean before he spotted him, not knowing it was too late. Dean raised his arm, the smirk on his face growing as he pulled back the bow. "This will teach you, you little bitch," he whispered. Sam stayed still just long enough for the arrow to find its mark, securing the jacket to the side of the barn. "Yesss," Dean said in triumph.

"Dean! What the hell!" John bellowed from behind, startling the boy so that he turned ready to punch but recognizing his dad's voice simultaneously; the smirk quickly replaced by an oh shit look.

"Dad! Don't scare me like that, man."

"Excuse me?! What the hell are you doing?! Shooting an arrow at your brother?! Are you possessed?!"

"Dad! He's got to learn! He started it with the little trick he played not telling the whole story about that Maggie broad!"

"That's not a reason to try to kill your brother, Dean!"

"I wasn't trying to kill him! Dad, I'm a great shot! All's I was doing was stopping him from running..." But John was done listening. He grabbed Dean by the jacket, pulling him along as John strode toward Sam, daring Dean to move when John reached the pinned boy to remove the arrow. "You've both lost your damn minds. Sam, I don't know what the hell you were thinking putting your brother, putting US in danger like that..."

"But I wasn't! I totally knew that Maggie only wanted to give Dean a taste of his own medicine. I just thought it would be easier than me trying to get back at him myself..."

"There's nothing you can say to make this make sense, Sam. There's nothing you can say to justify knowingly sending your brother into a situation where anything could happen."

"But I knew nothing would happen to him! I knew..."

"You knew nothing! As predictable as these things can be, they can be just as unpredictable when you go in without the whole story and unprepared. Do you realize that one boy left there so dazed he was hit by a truck? He's dead, Sam!"

"That wouldn't have happened..."

"Damn it, boy! Do you seriously not see how what you did was wrong?! Your little plan coud have gone all kinds of sideways!"

And Sam could see that. Now. He just did not want to give in. He wanted to find the best possible argument and avoid what he knew was coming because he knew there could be no other ramification. His dad had been spending weeks refereeing between him and Dean and he knew he had used up every get-out-of-jail-free card he had. He knew he had taken an unnecessary chance with Dean's life and his father's too. It was not something he could ever make a compelling argument for. So he stopped trying.

"And you, Dean!"

"I know, dad!" Dean replied, a little too loudly. "I know," he ended quietly, glancing over to Sam. " 'M sorry kid. I..I really didn't mean..." Dean trailed off slightly confused by his own actions. Sam looked at Dean with apologetic eyes, then over at his father and thought it wise not to say another word.  
>John snatched Dean's jacket again, causing him to stumble as John whirled him around, snatching at Sam as well and hauling both boys back to the house. He was done talking for the moment, huffing as he hurried the boys along, back across the yard, up the side steps and around the porch into the front of the house.<p>

"This time, Sam, you go to MY room."

"Your..."

"Yes. Go. I will be with you when I am ready."

Sam looked quickly over at his brother who was looking off to the side in a shame he wasn't willing to share.

"Yes, sir," Sam replied, taking a couple of steps backward as he watched Dean curiously for another minute more. Mistaking it for Sam's curiosity about what was going to happen to his brother, John looked pointedly at Sam, which Sam caught and turned running up the stairs two at a time.


	4. The Lessons

When John heard the door slam shut, he turned to Dean, letting go of his jacket and breathing deeply.

Dean raised his hands in surrender and began to back away. "Dad, seriously I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking..."

"You weren't."

"I wasn't. You're right. I..I wasn't. Please, dad, can't we just..."

"Dean, if I have to chase you, you will be sorrier."

"Right," Dean replied, stopping in his tracks. "Right. 'M sorry. I'm.. ok. yeah. Yeah. I know..."

"Assume the position, boy."

Dean nodded and started toward one of the armless side chairs that flanked the fireplace. His hands felt for his belt buckle. "Umm, can I keep..."

"Give me your belt. Drop the pants."

Dean breathed deep and nodded again, slowly undoing the buckle as he tried to stand firm to keep his dad from thinking he was going to bolt again. It always got worse when you ran and Dean had instantly added licks when he went after Sam. He still didn't understand why his brain had shut down so completely like that.

"Hurry up. And you can keep the boxers, boy. This time. After all, this one was started by Sam, though you're just as guilty of stupidity as he is, right now."

"Oh, ok. Thanks. Thanks, dad." Dean gave his father a small, grateful smile, then looked back down as he slid his belt from their loops and reached out to hand it to John. John took it with expectation as he waited for Dean to unbutton and drop trow. Dean bit his lip, turning away from his father, dropping his jeans and breathing deep once more before putting one hand on the back of the chair and one on the seat, bracing himself for the pain. As he got older, John expected him to stand the pain whenever he was forced to dole out this type of punishment. With the chair as support, Dean could both stand on his own and take the beating and still have something to hold on to, but he could not move, he could not collapse if he wanted it to end in a reasonable amount of time. Veering away from the belt only brought more stripes.

John gave Dean a second to wonder when the lashes would start. Normally he might have opted to set the number at whatever age the boy was at the time and stop there. But this lesson needed to never be forgotten. He knew he would lay into Dean for however long he thought it would take for Dean to be thoroughly chastised. He wanted nothing less than a sincere change in attitude, but it was clear Dean was already on his way to that so maybe it wouldn't take too long.

John brought the belt back and made the first strike a memorable one. Dean pitched forward from the force of it, gasping but quickly forcing his lips and eyes closed, determined to be a man about this. Gripping the chair tighter, Dean felt the searing from the belt as it rained on him again and again, John refusing to relent in order to bring Dean to repentence that much sooner. Dean breathed out and it became harder to not cry out as his breath left him more and more willingly but did not seem to want to return.

"I'm sorry, dad!" Dean gasped. "Please, I didn't mean...I wasn't..."

Another lash struck his hot behind forcing Dean to become more vocal now, grunting to try to mask his desire to cry. He hadn't bothered to try to count the number of times John struck him, but it was surely some astronomical number by now. He tried one more time to bear it in silence and gave in as the belt flicked at his rear, then found his thighs and back up again to maximize the effect of John's punishment. Dean stopped trying to reign in the tears, instead allowing his head to fall a little further, his arms shaking as he wept at his father's hand.

John was certain this was the repentence he sought and stood straight as he saw Dean trembling from the silent tears.

"Ok, son. That's enough. I think you get it now."

Dean nodded once more and slowly moved back, shaking his arms as he straightened. John wanted to rub his back, hating to see his child in any pain. He sighed, looking away as Dean kept his back to him, wiping tears before bending over to pull his pants back up. "I don't..." Dean started, still talking to the floor, away from John. "I don't know what I was doing, dad. It was stupid," Dean sniffled again and started to regain his composure. "It was wreckless and I wouldn't blame you if you beat me every day for a week for doing what I did to Sam. I deserve it."

"No, son," John replied, turning Dean around to finally see his eyes. Dean continued looking down in shame, John lifting his chin to give him a really good look now. "What do you think, boy? You say you weren't thinking. Maybe, maybe you were possessed or touched or something?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know. I just feel like I wasn't in my right mind for a moment, at least not until you started wailing on me and suddenly it was like some kind of fog lifted and I was sorry, so sorry something could have happened to Sam because of me." Dean bit his lip again and John couldn't hold back any longer. Stroking his son's face, he brought Dean in for a hug, shushing him just a bit as he rocked him in his arms. "It's ok, boy. It's ok. I'm starting to think that Maggie had more of an effect on your than either of us realized. She was literally going to beat you senseless..."

"But you got her in time. Thank God," Dean breathed. "Sam."

"He didn't know. I know he wasn't trying to cause all this trouble, but he'll learn once and for all."

"Dad, please. Can you please go easy?"

"Can't, son. He has to learn."

Dean nodded, rubbing down his face.

"Why don't you go get something to drink, huh?" John suggested. "We might be awhile so maybe you want to..."

"Yeah. I, uh, think I'll go lie down awhile...in the Impala," Dean said, slight question to his voice as he indirectly asked permission. He wasn't sure how far this punishment would extend.

"That sounds like a good idea, son. Why don't you go do that?"

Dean nodded once more, hugging himself partly to comfort himself, partly in anticipation of the comfort he knew he was going to have to give Sam later. Walking slowly toward the door, he sniffed once again as he took the keys from the hook and walked out the door.

John smiled at his son, anticipating a lot more peace now for a lot longer. Peace and obedience. Nice change of pace. He took his time going up the stairs partly to make Sam sweat, partly because he really wasn't looking forward to this. Sam, being the baby, would cry faster and harder, but because his actions set things in motion, John could not go easy on him.

He reached his room where the door was closed. He knocked gently and stepped in. Sam was waiting, standing by the bed, his chest heaving as his nervousness took hold. Sam wrung his hands and stepped back slowly as his dad stepped into the room. "I'm so, so sorry, daddy."

John snickered. Nice try.

"Please. It was stupid. It was mean. iiiit was thoughtless, Dad, please. Please! Could you ground me for a month? Send me away? Make me clean guns for a year. I'll run 10 miles every day. Please, daddy. Don't spank me!'

"Sammy come on now, be fair. I just got done with Dean and he wasn't the one to cause all this. Do you really think I can let you off with just a grounding?" John emphasized the "just" since Sam would most likely be getting as many forms of punishment as his dad could stand to monitor.

"No. No, sir. I guess you're right." Tears began to pool at the bottom of Sam's wide eyes. "I just wanted to be left alone. I'm not a kid anymore. I just wanted Dean to treat me like I was bigger too."

"Dean has to watch for you, Sammy. My orders. But he already lets you get away with miles of nonsense when I don't give Dean nearly as much room to move. You should be glad he's here when I'm not."

Sam thought about it and he knew his dad was right about how much more permissive Dean was toward him. He never doubted Dean loved him; he was just overprotective at times.

"I guess we just have to learn how to get along better now that I'm a teenager too."

"Maybe so. Doesn't change what you did. And then you ran away to boot."

Sam gulped. "I know. I'm sorry, dad." Sam breathed a big boy breath and straightened his back.

"Where do you want me?"

"Across the bed will be just fine." John wanted to let his little boy be just that a little longer. Unlike the chair that forced Dean to take his beating, Sam could rest on the bed. John wanted to be able to truly control his licks so he wouldn't let Sam lay over his lap for this. "On the bare, Sam."

"Dad!"

"Sam, again, what you did was the domino that caused them all to fall. You have to understand this was not acceptable and I need you to remember it."

Sam nodded as he bit his lip. "Yes, sir," he finally replied, removing his jeans and boxers to lay across the bed as John went to the closet to get another one of Dean's belts. It was all he could do to help spare Sam some pain since John's belt was much broader and heavier.

"This madness ends now, right Sam?"

"Ye...Yes, sir. Won't happen again," Sam answered into the blanket.

Like Dean, John wasn't sure how many licks he would give Sam, but also like Dean, Sam was clearly already on the road to repentence so it needn't be a lengthy lashing.

John raised the belt and brought it hard across Sam's posterior. "Owwww!" Sam yelled, grasping the blanket tighter, one hand reaching to hold a bed post. Sam sniffed a small sniffle as he tried to brace for the next lash. As quick as John was with Dean, one lick quickly following the other, with Sam he opted to take more staggered strokes, putting weight behind each but giving Sam a brief moment to recover in between. It might have been a little more torturous for Sam that way, but thus was the constant pull between a father and son.

John brought the belt down again, aiming to light up Sam's entire rear end and his thighs on occasion as well. Sam knew not to jump up, as much as he wanted to, so he settled for yelling into the bed cover, trying to squeeze the wood from the bed post, his tears starting to blind him. John wasn't immune to his son's wails, but he needed to see this through. He knew Sam was not at his limit yet, so John brought the belt down in rapid succession this time, aiming to bring out all the definace in his son once and for all. For Sam there was no greater shame than lying bare-assed on the bed while his father spanked him raw. He was sure Dean was probably listening in, adding to the humiliation. But he was truly contrite and let himself cry freely as he gave up his efforts to be brave. He was not sure he could take much more and as the last of his pride was stripped away, he turned his face toward his father. "Please daddy! Please! No more! I'll do anything you say!" Another stripe found his rear. "Owww!" Sam wailed. "I'm sorry! Please, dad!" John let one final lash take away his son's thoughtlessness, then he breathed a deep breath, allowing his arm to relax as he quietly told Sam, "You're good, Sammy. Get up now, son."

Sam looked over like he might not believe John. Seeing his father step back, he let go of the bedpost, his hand aching from the death grip. Hoisting himself up on limp arms, Sam drew one leg under himself to try to get up from the bed. With a hiss, he sat back as much as he could stand while his father handed him his clothes. "Get dressed, son. Take your time." John returned the belt to the closet, ran his fingers through his hair and focused on leaving the room to give his baby as much privacy as possible. "She touched him, Sam," he said to the door. Sam stood next to the bed, listening to his father with a snap of his boxers waistband. "She paddled him like you wanted, son, and it was just enough to make him want to hurt you back, Sammy. But Dean got himself under control. My tanning his hide got him further under control. Unpredictable, Sammy. It happens." Not looking back, John left the room leaving Sam to sink to the bed, letting the pain rise up around him because he deserved it. As the tears began to fall again, Sam tried to corral them by focusing on putting his jeans back on. It was difficult to see and the tears grew bigger the more frustrated he got. Sam hung his head, giving up. But then he felt his brother touch his leg, kneeling before him to get dressed like he did when Sam was a toddler. Sam tucked in his lower lip as he accepted the help, standing up to let Dean pull the jeans over his hips and button them. Sam zipped himself and stood before Dean, head bowed, shoulders shaking slightly.

"It's ok, squirt," Dean whispered, letting Sam wrap himself around his waist and pulling Sam in after months of their being at odds. Dean's pain was still quite present, so he buried his nose in Sam's hair to comfort both of them. "It's ok, Sammy. Don't cry, huh? I'm ok. It's all good now."

"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm sorry. I won't be a pain in the ass anymore."

"You aren't, squirt. You're 13. You're supposed to cause us trouble." Dean grinned as he felt Sam's grip tighten around his waist.

"Dean..."

"Shh, Sammy, now," Dean said, standing straight again and holding Sam at arm's length. "Dad had one hell of a time wailing on us both in one day, huh? Can you imagine how tired his arm must be? I'm sure if we try, we can get him to go to bed early and we'll watch whatever you want on TV. The remote is yours."

"Really?"

"What I say, bitch?"

"Jerk."


End file.
